


burn the past

by towokuwusatsuwu



Series: Pride 2018: 30 Days of S.W.O.R.D. [24]
Category: HiGH&LOW: the Story of S.W.O.R.D. (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canonical Character Death, Established Relationship, Face Slapping, Introspection, Other, Past, Post-Movie: Final Mission
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-24
Updated: 2018-06-24
Packaged: 2019-05-27 20:19:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15032417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/towokuwusatsuwu/pseuds/towokuwusatsuwu
Summary: Kirinji’s mouth is warm against Nikaid’s palm, lips soft against their skin, and his eyes are dark, so dark when he peeks up at Nikaido, trying to examine their expression no doubt. “I’m sorry,” he says again, another reverent kiss punctuating his words. “I won’t ask again.”“Kain is who I used to be when I lived on the Nameless Street.” They don’t know why they mention this at all, watching Kirinji’s expression carefully. “I joined long before you did.”The news, predictably, rocks Kirinji to his core; he leans back, his mouth gaping open, and Nikaido rolls their eyes at the sight, the way Kirinji gulps in air like he’s dying. “Y-you were—”“A member of S.W.O.R.D., yes. Smokey knew the name would upset me.” Nikaido takes their hand back, traces the pads of their fingers over Kirinji’s cheek, watching him wince at the sensation of someone touching the sore spot on his cheek. “I don’t like my past being brought up. We won’t discuss this subject again. Now you know the truth.”





	burn the past

“He called you Kain.”

The words are soft-spoken, quiet enough that Nikaido might have missed them in any other instance, and they only half pay attention to what Kirinji says in the first place. When they finally left the Nameless Street, the smog and rust in the air clinging to the inside of Nikaido’s throat, threatening to choke them, they caught Kirinji by the arm, dragging him off with them. They were told about his snide little comment, the belief the mass murder of the Rudeboys would be simpler than sorting through them as was previously agreed upon.

Such insolence can hardly be ignored. Nikaido knows this better than most and with Noboru gone, they have to turn their attention to something, to someone, to pass the time. Kirinji was more than happy to lend his services, spending far too much time scrabbling for Nikaido’s attention to begin with, but he does as he’s told and when he mouths off, he takes his punishment better than most. He knows when he deserves it.

For the most part, he knows better than to mention some things. Nikaido patiently corrected him on pronouns, watched the curiosity linger in his gaze, the question on the tip of his tongue, why  _ those _ pronouns, why  _ that _ choice, but he kept his mouth shut, apologized, and learned. He never brings up Noboru, never asks Nikaido what relationship the two of them had, though it’s obvious to anyone who looks at him that Kirinji is sure he replaced Noboru fully, that no part of their former group member lingers in the house Nikaido calls their own.

He can believe that if it brings him some comfort at night. Nikaido doesn’t mind one way or another because they know the truth, and if Kirinji never catches on, so be it.

Kirinji rarely pushes boundaries, so when Nikaido lets the words sink in— just four small words, with no undertone at all— it takes them a few minutes to process exactly what Kirinji voiced. When they do process, though, they turn around so suddenly that Kirinji can hardly prepare. His head snaps to the side under the force of the slap, his the sound of Nikaido’s hand on his cheek echoing in the spacious living room. Kirinji’s eyes widen, his mouth dropping open, no doubt struggling to figure out what he might have done wrong this time.

“You know better,” Nikaido snaps at him.

“I— I didn’t say anything!” Kirinji covers the red splotch on his skin with his hand, and the sting in Nikaido’s palm tells them just how sore Kirinji’s face will be by morning. “Did I? Nikaido-san, I—”

The outburst has Nikaido yanking Kirinji into the house, shutting the door firmly behind him, locking up because the night is late and because the neighbors do not need to be woken by the sound of Kirinji’s shrill indignance. He wrenches his arm free of Nikaido’s hand, stumbling backwards a few steps, almost losing his balance and crashing to the plush rug stretched over the glossy hardwood beneath. His fingers are still pressed to his cheek.

“This is a  _ neighborhood, _ ” Nikaido reminds him, and Kirinji scowls at them. “Make that face at me again and you can take yourself back to your apartment.”

The words have Kirinji’s face softening around the edges but the fire burning in his eyes dims not at all. If anything, it only rages hotter and hotter. “But you hit me! You hit me and all I did was… Why did he call you that? Do you two  _ know _ each other? But it’s not your na—”

“Kirinji!” Nikaido’s hand, curled into a fist, slams into the wall beside their head, rattling the artwork hung there. The sound has Kirinji’s voice dying in his throat, his eyes widening all the more.

Silence lingers between them for a moment before Kirinji lowers his hand, his cheek stained an ugly crimson from Nikaido’s hand. Nikaido can imagine how hot the skin is to the touch, and he ought to put something on that, ice to cool the pain and to stop the swelling unless he wants to walk into work tomorrow with visible evidence of his disobedience on his face. Instead, though, Kirinji swallows hard enough that Nikaido hears his throat click, folding his hands in front of him, schooling his expression. It takes him visible effort to do what he should do, and Nikaido waits patiently, shaking the ache out of their fingers.

“I’m sorry.” Kirinji takes a step forward, hands held out tentatively. When Nikaido makes no move, Kirinji takes their hand in both of his, turning it over, pressing a kiss to their palm, flushed from the smack. “I didn’t realize I was saying something that I shouldn’t have said at all.”

Nikaido sighs, tips their head back, stretching the muscles in their neck, sore from another long day of work. With their influence in Iemura, they make for a good representative, and they can sell Kuryu better than most. Before joining Iemura-san and the rest of the group outside of the Nameless Street, Nikaido had been bouncing from office to office, pitching ideas and making promises, strengthening Kuryu’s ties to the city. The exhaustion set in long before Iemura-san called them and patiently asked them to come assist in finding Smokey.

The fatigue is most likely part of the reason they were already in a foul mood when Iemura-san made it clear that Smokey had to die one way or another, and the memory of their past life on the Nameless Street is a sure way to ruin their evening. Though most of the members of the group knew who Nikaido used to be— they had been members for so long, had been there the day when Iemura-san made them an offer too sweet to refuse— Kirinji is new. The name  _ Kain _ means nothing to him, carries no connotations, no memories of the past.

Kirinji’s mouth is warm against Nikaid’s palm, lips soft against their skin, and his eyes are dark, so dark when he peeks up at Nikaido, trying to examine their expression no doubt. “I’m sorry,” he says again, another reverent kiss punctuating his words. “I won’t ask again.”

“Kain is who I used to be when I lived on the Nameless Street.” They don’t know why they mention this at all, watching Kirinji’s expression carefully. “I joined long before you did.”

The news, predictably, rocks Kirinji to his core; he leans back, his mouth gaping open, and Nikaido rolls their eyes at the sight, the way Kirinji gulps in air like he’s dying. “Y-you were—”

“A member of S.W.O.R.D., yes. Smokey knew the name would upset me.” Nikaido takes their hand back, traces the pads of their fingers over Kirinji’s cheek, watching him wince at the sensation of someone touching the sore spot on his cheek. “I don’t like my past being brought up. We won’t discuss this subject again. Now you know the truth.”

They wonder what Kirinji will think of this, if this ruins the pristine image of them he no doubt has sequestered in his head over the years he’s been desperately trying to get closer to them. Would he reject them? It would not be shocking, nor surprising, and Nikaido would hardly blink if he did. Kirinji is replaceable, of course, but it might be better to let time lapse between him and a new partner if only to make sure Nikaido has time to themself to relax after this stress.

Instead, though, Kirinji turns his head. He keeps his eyes on Nikaido, gauging his reaction, as he presses a kiss to Nikaido’s palm once more, his fingers hesitantly circling Nikaido’s wrist. “So what? I don’t care who you used to be. It isn’t who you are anymore.”

The sentiment is a lovely one and a surprise from him, of all people; Nikaido presses their lips into a thin line, watching as Kirinji closes his eyes, his kisses more open-mouthed, soft and a little wet. It might just be him proving a point but Nikaido knows Kirinji better than this, because Kirinji is so woefully inadequate at hiding his thoughts and feelings from anyone. If this is what he says, then this is what he means, and no amount of acting is going to be able to change that. It’s amusing, in its own way, this naked honesty from him.

Nikaido has control over the relationship between the two of them, because Nikaido needs that control and because Kirinji hands it over without question, without argument. This boldness from him is new, daring because this might be punished, and he knows that. But Nikaido allows it, just this once, and refuses to admit to themself that allowing Kirinji, of all people, to validate how they feel about cutting ties with their past, is helping them at all.

“I’m sorry for upsetting you.” Kirinji wets his lips, and his eyes are dark, his pupils blown wide. The rush, the adrenaline of death still running through him. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“That’s true. You should have kept your mouth shut,” Nikaido agrees.

They don’t miss the way Kirinji winces, but his grip on their hand only grows a little firmer as he turns his head, nuzzling against their palm like a dog seeking attention. “And you hurt your hand slapping me. Do you want me to get ice for it? It looks sore.”

“Are you patronizing me?” Nikaido grips Kirinji by the chin, all too aware of how soft, how careful his voice sounds right now. “I am not a child, Kirinji. Keep this in mind.”

They watch his Adam’s apple bob when he swallows. “I didn’t mean to, if I did. I just… You seem upset and if I can do anything to make you feel better, then I want to.”

“You care too much,” Nikaido tells him for what feels like the hundredth time.

Kirinji’s lips twitch at the corners, but he stops himself from smirking even though Nikaido can tell without trying that this is what he wants to do. “Maybe so. So, ice? The skin’s so red…”

Nikaido should not humor him but they allow Kirinji to lead them to the kitchen, taking a seat at the wide expanse of the island in the middle of the large room, loosening their tie and watching him move about the space. He’s too familiar with the room now, too familiar with the house, too familiar with Nikaido in general, but Nikaido allows it for now. Watches as Kirinji collects ice from the freezer, wrapping it in plastic and a thin dish cloth before he sets it gently in Nikaido’s palm, pressing it against the sore skin there.

“Better?” he asks, looking up at Nikaido uncertainly.

“You should get ice for your face.” Nikaido curls their fingers around the makeshift ice pack, keeping it in place. “You’re going to have a bruise if you don’t do anything about it.”

Kirinji touches his face, winces, and nods once. “Right. Thank you for the reminder.”

He sits down across from Nikaido a few minutes later, holding his own ice pack against his cheek, his expression speaking to how exhausted he feels. Though violence is Kirinji’s forte, the language he speaks best, today has been a long day for everyone involved. Seeing even him tired from the long hours spent preparing the Nameless Street is interesting.

The thought of the place makes Nikaido sigh. “I feel disgusting after having been there.”

“You should take a bath before bed, then. Might help you calm down.” Kirinji’s hands twitch, his body language already speaking for him. “I can draw one for you.”

“Then do so.” Nikaido waves him away, unsurprised when he leaps from his chair and heads upstairs, taking the steps two at a time even though he shouldn’t.

They keep the ice in place until their skin is numbed before they head upstairs to the bathroom, the telltale scent of bath salts spilling out into the hallway. They pause before they reach the doorway, listening intently; Kirinji is humming a song beneath his breath, almost too quiet, almost drowned out by the sound of water spilling into the tub. But it’s audible just the same and Nikaido lets the melody seep into their bones, then steps into the bathroom, shedding layers of clothing, covered in dust and dampness.

Kirinji pauses next to the tub, his eyes crawling over every inch of exposed skin, appreciative and reverent as always. Nikaido pays him no mind, though they do glance at their reflection in the mirror. It’s been years since they last stepped onto the Nameless Street, having sent Kirinji to manage the Red Rum factory for them, but to their discerning eye, there is no trace of the bedraggled hoodlum they used to be, dressed in baggy clothing torn at the seams, fraying at every edge, rebounding off the walls and ceiling like gravity never existed.

“Nikaido-san?” Kirinji’s voice draws them out of the memories.

“It’s been a long day.” Nikaido sinks down into the water, moaning in appreciation at the heat. Curls of steam rise from the surface of the water, and they don’t miss the way Kirinji’s face flushes.

He doesn’t have to be asked, twisting the taps to stop the water before settling on his knees at Nikaido’s back. His hands feel good on Nikaido’s sore shoulders as they always do, and he knows how to much them, how to ease the tension from their muscles.

“You can stay the night,” Nikaido decides.

They can hear the smile in Kirinji’s voice. “As you wish.”


End file.
